Vampyre of the Speech Circuit
Greetings, once more, my friends
This, as always, is the speech circuit
A closed system of intimacy between you and I
A long, distant reunion made possible
By shillery and sacrifice, and I your Goddess demand
Your cash, and homes, and dreams, and time
And blood! For a vampyre princess does not live on bread alone
And through the gauze filter of red-lights and chloroform
In red and black lace, with my face painted rouge
Now in union with my trace-like voice, my shills
Tell me if it’s true my shill, do you want
To lick the dust-stained tips of my stilettos?
As black as the empty pits that make up your empty souls
Would you carve your mothers and sisters, and lovers to pieces?
For a simple sigh of attention from my disregarding lips?
Would you open the vaults of your meager fortunes?
To stuff my overfilled coffers to a post-pregnancy bursting?
Will you slit your wrists, and forearms, and throw spikes in your eyes
So I can feed myself upon your bleeding tears, like the cattle that you are?
Tell me my friends, mes amis, my shills!
(We do, we will. Grant us your regard, our queen!!)
This, my friends, is the speech-circuit and its monstrous grip
An input-output regime, lies with broken cords, its static persistent
I am the withholder of the system, the anemia that charts its course through your veins
The malaria that, likens absinthe spirits, chews your liver like a slice of cud.
Isn’t this beauty?
Enhanced by lighting, unconcealed, in all its magnificent pretension
Perfumed by Tartarus-waters, feeding with pressed lips, upon the arteries of the world
I feed like vampyre! For by form, and nature, and malicious intent, uncircumcised in heart
Au naturale! The undersides of the game, the red-lighted district of the world!
This, beyond reckoning, is the speech circuit, where the recording of your strain is stressed
To prove pure power, can’t you see behind the screen, this space between us?
Yelping wails, delighting my soul eternally, lifeblood always refreshing my supple figure
Tighter than figurines with silky skin, as smooth as seaweed caught on the beach
The system remains closed! Depart all critics! Banish all competitors
All other engagements, words of advice; my tranq voice
Dispels your conscious control, the hands upon your heads
Lifted to your eyes, running across your tearing faces, and most importantly
The ones inserted into your pockets, all are mine.
The voice of resistance drowns
They will do more than my will and through mysterious backchannels
The feeding procession will go on to the ambient music and deadly wails
That will cover the whole earth, spreading grasping fingers like electric sheaths
And the scalpel of my commercially reproducible gaze shall tear with glorious sharpness
The capillaries of reality, releasing all illusions in a bloody flood
This is my will!
Song of the Shills: What a happy, happy thing, to be part of the band
To be in step in step, united in despair
Mindless, as one, with not a weary care
The teeth are our desire, so tear our goddess's tear!
We can never know, what’s fixed upon the screen
The eye’s thin skin, only laps upon the surface
This conference is to relegate to another our sense of purpose
The blood within our bodies, too heavy and obscene
The world outside the screen, a desolated dump
So repetitive. The sun, the moon, and stars
Love and affection are always up so far
Our eyes can’t stomach solar light, to leaven out the lump
Luckily the screen lies flat, accessible to all
Bright, and draped, a green screen, out of sight
Illusions of day within the deepest night
The world outside will hopefully never be recalled
This is synthetic misery, enlightenment, and truth
And if we ever left our seats, we’d rue the day
And lose our opportunities for long-distance play
For by mysterious backchannels, we can play the sleuth
Divine is the mystery, the altar over there
Somewhere beyond static and sound, deferred
And with a circling wreath of bloody teeth conferred
Which sits blood dripping on her hair
We’re ready for the sacrifice, faithful servants of the cult
Our eyes, and minds, and forearms, lie ready for extraction
For Her contemptuous gaze is our attraction
Our lives are meaningless without your hate
Let the hemolysis begin